intempestive
by Aloin Elros
Summary: intempestive; or five times Emerson Kent's flatmates made a general nuisance of themselves probably on purpose and the one time they didn't. Transferred over to here from the kink meme!
1. discovery

A/N: So, I finally got around to writing this! I can promise that they'll be super sporadic, but that I do have a plan. I hope you love Em's flatmates as much as I do.

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**intempestive;**

**or five times emerson kent's flatmates made a general nuisance of themselves (probably on purpose) and the one time they didn't.**

**intempestive:** _untimely, happening at an inopportune moment._

**one; discovery**

Emerson Kent did love his flatmates (in a platonic sort of a way), he really did. He'd known Thomas since he was a scrawny eleven year old entering secondary school, with an oversized rucksack and a tie that nearly reached his knees. They'd been best friends ever since Mr Craig had sat them next to each other in double French, and they'd bonded over a hatred of conjugating verbs and a need to copy each other's homework. They were polar opposites in their attitudes – Emerson was quiet and reserved, while Thomas was brash and sarcastic, but somehow they just clicked.

Naturally when they left the Sixth Form, they shared a flat in London, partially bought with money from Thomas' fairly well off parents. Emerson pursued his dream of joining the police force, and Thomas worked for his English degree, claiming that one day he'd be a world renowned writer. It had been nice for six months, but the flat felt strangely empty. One advert on the University notice board later and they acquired Louis – a starving artist with a penchant for eyeliner and skinny jeans, and watching trashy TV on his laptop.

But living with the two of them could be...interesting, to say the least. Thomas was up all hours, writing article after article. They'd been woken up in the early hours of the morning more times than they could count by him making a racket with the coffee machine in the kitchen, and his writers-block induced mood swings often meant that the tiniest thing could set him off. Emerson hated it when that happened, and usually left Louis to calm him down. Louis was one of the most laid back people he knew, which meant that most of Thomas' cruel comments just bounced off him, but it wasn't always a good thing. He paid no heed to deadlines or work, and had a tendency to leave everything until the last minute – meaning they often walked into the living room to find an explosion of canvases and paints and glitter, with Louis at the centre of it all clutching an energy drink, fast asleep after working for 24 hours straight. Nobody dared to venture into his room. It might as well have been a death trap.

The flat was considerably bigger than most. They each had a small room, Louis having converted the little utility room into a bedroom when he'd moved in. The kitchen was big enough to cook in, although they didn't do a whole lot of that. Thomas was the only one of them that could cook decently. Nobody mentioned the time Emerson and Louis had tried to cook a birthday meal for him. Ever. They ate a lot of take out, especially when Thomas was working late. They often ended up sitting on the floor, the sofa inevitably covered with canvases or articles or case notes. The mess hadn't ever really bothered any of them before. It was just a constant in their lives that they had learnt to just accept.

That had all changed not long after Joseph Chandler joined the Whitechapel division. Louis and Thomas began to notice subtle changes in Emerson's attitude – the way he dressed, the way he acted and the sudden desire for things to be in _order_. Thomas began to find his articles tucked into folders, with post-it notes on them telling him to **STOP LEAVING THESE ALL OVER THE TABLE!** or asking **DON'T THESE HAVE A HOME?**. Louis nearly had a heart attack when he walked into his room and found his paints lined up in a colour spectrum on his desk and all of the canvases stacked in size order.

("Thomas, I can see the _floor_. This is just..wrong."

"I didn't know your carpet was green."

"Nor did I.")

Emerson's old comfy clothes soon gave way to sharp suits and shined shoes, and his entire attitude towards going to work completely changed. He started leaving the flat in the morning with a bizarre little smile on his face, much to the confusion of his flatmates.

("Look at him!"

"What?"

"Louis, he's practically _skipping_ out of the fucking door. And he _alphabetised_ all of my old articles."

"Come to think of it, I found him lining up my paintbrushes into size order on the coffee table this morning. I don't even think he noticed he was _doing_ it."

"Something's just...not right."

"You can say that again."

"Something's just not right."

"Oh ha-bloody-ha. Come on, help me clean these up before he gets home and gets his hands on them. I can't find anything in my room anymore."

"Wha-? Ugh, fine. I'm surprised you could find anything in there in the first place...")

This carried on for a few days before eventually; Thomas decided that enough was enough. Clearly something was going on with his best friend, and he'd be damned if he was going to keep it a secret from him any longer. He cornered him in the living room one evening after he returned late from the station. He knew he'd been working a stressful case – not that he knew the specifics – but this really couldn't wait any longer.

He got straight to the point. "Em, what the fuck is going on with you?"

Emerson looked up at him, eyes wide and a little confused. "...What?"

"You. _This_." Thomas said, waving a hand to encompass Emerson in his suit and the perfectly lined up paperwork and stationery on the coffee table.

Emerson looked away, fingers toying with the corner of a piece of paper, and shrugged one shoulder. "Dunno what you're talking about."

Thomas snorted, and dropped into the space next to him on the sofa. "Please. I know you better than anyone. I can tell when something's up. But c'mon. Even Louis knows something's off, and you know how oblivious he is."

Emerson snorted quietly, fingers still worrying the corner of the piece of paper in his hands.

Thomas shoved him with his shoulder. "Either you'll have to tell me, or I'll start guessing." A pause. "Are you trying to _impress_ someone Em?" A wicked smile crept onto Thomas' face. "Have you got some secret girl we don't know about?"

"What? No! Not...not quite."

Thomas waved a dismissive hand. "A secret guy then."

Emerson looked startled. "Wha-...I-..."

Thomas just looked at him, unimpressed. "Do you really think I'm an idiot?"

Emerson huffed a small laugh, smiling a little. "Guess not."

Thomas chuckled, and then leant back into his seat. "So go on. Who is he?"

"The new DI."

Thomas whistled through his teeth. "Fucking the boss? Didn't think you had it in you Em."

"Oh shut up. We're not...he's not...we're just _not_, okay?"

"Whatever you say."

"I mean it!"

"And I believe you! Jeez, calm down."

"Sorry."

"S'alright. But that doesn't explain the...the _tidiness_."

"Just a habit I picked up from him, that's all. I think he's got OCD. I just figured I might as well try to keep things nice for him, y'know? Suppose it just spilt over into the flat too."

"I see."

"You think it's stupid, don't you?"

"Nah, it's...adorable."

Emerson flung one of the cushions at his face. "Fuck off."

Thomas laughed, catching the pillow deftly and dropping it back onto the sofa. "I just meant that it's sweet you do that for him. What does he say about it?"

Emerson wilted a fraction. "I don't think he's even noticed."

"Aw. Well, I'm sure he will at some point."

"Doubt it."

"Don't worry about it. If he doesn't, then he's probably not even worth it."

"Listen to you, giving out relationship advice like some sort of expert. When's the last time you were in a relationship?"

"Er...dunno." Thomas shrugged, turning a little red. "That's not the point anyway. What _is_ the point, is getting your hot DI to notice you."

"Ohhhh no. I'm not taking any more of _your_ love advice. Remember what happened in year twelve? With Jessie Hawser?"

"I don't think she's quite forgiven you for that yet."

"No, nor do I."

Thomas laughed. "It was bloody funny though."

Emerson tried to keep a straight face, but ended up laughing as well. "I suppose it was."

Thomas clapped a hand onto his shoulder. "Come on then. Let's go dig Louis out of his pit of a bedroom, and go and get something to eat. I'm starving." He stood up, and moved over to Louis' door. "Louis! Come on, it's safe to come out. He's just lovesick is all."

Louis emerged from his room, paint spattered and smirking as he pulled on a hoodie. "Aw, has ickle Emmykins got a crush?"

Emerson got to his feet, straightening his jacket and trying not to smile. "You're both a bloody nuisance, you know that?"

Louis grinned. "But you love us for it. Right?"

"Something like that."

Thomas laughed, and pulled the door open. "Come on. We'll go and get something, and you can tell us _all_ about him."

**end chapter one.**


	2. oh my god, please stop talking

A/N: The time gap between the chapters is pretty small. Thomas confronted him at some point near the beginning of the Kray case. Saying that, I don't _actually_ know how canonically possible this section actually is, having only the vaguest memories of how this all went down, but it's the perfect opportunity for Thomas and/or Louis to cock up. Also this turned out a whole lot more angstier than I had planned. Let's just roll with it, 'kay? Also, one billion points to whoever recognises the OTP I snuck in from another fandom who should really not be there. **A****lso thank you _so much_ to fuckyeahwhitechapel-itv and fuckyeahwhitechapelfic for recc'ing this silly little fic. I love you so much :3**

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**two; oh my god, please stop talking**

Thomas wasn't surprised to find that Em had listed him as his emergency contact.

What he _was_ surprised to discover was that Em – kind, funny Em – had been attacked. Not just a mugging, but a proper, full-blown _hit_ by a criminal organisation. It kept repeating itself in a circle in his mind as he drove to the hospital, knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel just a little too tightly. Louis threw him a glance, his thin face seeming even more drawn and pale without the eyeliner, or the piercings he hadn't had time to put in. He looked young, and scared, and when Thomas looked back at him, he turned away to gaze out of the window. Thomas turned back to the road and tried to focus on the car in front of them to keep himself together. He couldn't lose it, not now.

Louis' fingers worried the edges of the fraying holes in the knees of his jeans as they drew closer to the hospital, eyes cast down and not really focused on anything around him. He was half aware of the car stopping in a road near the hospital, and Thomas nudging his shoulder to get him to leave the car, but he didn't really register anything until Thomas pushed him towards the soap dispenser by the door to the ward and it hit him that he was in here because Em had been hurt. He'd never really considered that his flatmate did a dangerous job. He never stopped grumbling about the paperwork, and the long nights spent at the office, and it was all too easy to assume that he worked just a regular nine to five job. He hadn't really realised that actually, Em went out to deal with dangerous criminals on a regular basis. And now here they were, in a hospital, in the middle of a situation that none of them had ever thought to prepare themselves for.

They moved down the ward slowly, doing their best not to let their eyes linger too long on any of the other patients, until they found Em.

"Holy shit Em," breathed Thomas, his eyes wide as he looked down at his friends sleeping form. He was lying on his side, and hooked up to any number of tubes. Thomas did his best not to look at them as he sank into one of the seats at his bedside. Louis stood behind him, moving uncomfortably from foot to foot, not quite sure what to do. Thomas was about to speak again, when one of the doctors walked over to them, clipboard in hand.

"Mr...Merrick, correct?"

Thomas looked up. "Yeah, that's me."

The Scottish man smiled lightly. "I'm Doctor Lyons. I've been treating DC Kent since he was brought in. Can I have a word?"

Thomas frowned. "What do you need to talk to me for?"

"You're listed as his emergency contact. I assume you live together?"

"Yeah, the three of us."

"Right. I just need to run over some basic things – wound aftercare, how to deal with potential problems, numbers to call if you need a hand...like I said, just basic things to try to make sure everything runs nice and smooth once he leaves."

Comprehension dawned, and Thomas nodded as he stood up. "Sure, just a second." He turned to Louis. "You'll be okay for a few minutes?" Louis nodded slowly, and Thomas squeezed his shoulder lightly before following the doctor.

"Fuck." Louis slumped down into one of the seats, and watched Em as he slept. He figured that he must be on a pretty potent drug cocktail to be able to sleep through the pain he must be in. He winced in sympathy as he looked at the bandages visible through the gaudy hospital robes. He rubbed a hand over his face, not really knowing what to say. It's wasn't like Em could hear him, but he felt like he should say _something_ at least.

"I...fuck Em. How did this happen? Things like this don't happen in real life. You're supposed to win! You're the good guys!" He trailed off, unsure of where he was actually going with this. He sat in silence for what couldn't have been more than a minute, but felt like a lifetime. Suddenly, a soft accented voice broke into his thoughts.

"Excuse me, uh...Mr Merrick?"

Louis jolted from his thoughts, startled, and turned to see a nurse standing behind him with hands full of bandages. He shook his head. "No, I'm Louis. Malloy. Mr Merrick is Thomas. I'm just his friend." He remembered his manners. "Nice to meet you...?"

"Oh, I'm Staff Nurse Durrani."

He smiled weakly. "Bit of a mouthful."

She huffed a small laugh, walking around Em's bed and placing the bandages on the metal trolley. "I just need to change his dressings. It could be a bit upsetting for you, but some people like to learn to assist the patients at home." Something in her tone sounded almost like a challenge, and Louis contemplated leaving for all of three seconds, before shaking his head.

"I s'pose I've got to learn how to help at some point. Not like he's going to be able to change them himself, is he?"

She smiled at him, obviously pleased at his choice, and motioned him around to stand a little away from her to watch what she did. He bit his lip as she peeled away the first of the soiled bandages, revealing the beginning of the deep slashes across Em's back. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to force himself to keep looking but something inside of him broke.

"I..I'm sorry I can't...I can't...shit, I'm sorry."

Louis twisted away sharply, and made his way back down the ward, half running. As he did so, Thomas turned away from where he was speaking to the doctor and apologised, not looking back to the doctor, but focused on catching up with Louis.

Louis pushed through the doors, Thomas just behind him and reaching out for his arm.

"Lou? Louis, come on..."

Louis pulled away from him. "Did you see him Thomas? Did you fucking _see_ him? What those bastards did to him?"

Thomas' arm dropped to his side. "I...yeah, I saw."

A disbelieving laugh fell from Louis' mouth involuntarily as he ran his hands through his hair and began pacing from one wall to the other across the narrow corridor, barely noticing the people trying to move past him. "How did they let that happen? How could _anyone_ let that happen? Are they all fucking imbeciles?"

"Lou, you're in a hospital."

"Oh please, I'm sure they've heard worse."

"Even so – "

"Fucking hell Thomas, my language is seriously not the problem right now! The problem is that Em is here, lying on a hospital bed, with his back slashed to buggery! And that somebody, somewhere, let him go off on his own to investigate what is clearly a fucking dangerous organisation!"

"Louis – "

"I mean, can't they see how fucking naive he is? Look at him! What about this supposedly _amazing_ DI? Can't he see that he's just a little kid that worships the fucking ground he walks on? How can he _not_ see it? And do you think he's even turned up yet? Why wasn't anyone here? What if they come back for him? Fucking hell, what if they come back? If he gets hurt again, I'll never forgive him. It'll be all his fault, stupid, _stupid_ bastard."

"Louis!"

Louis stopped pacing and turned to look at Thomas, then realised that a tall blonde man in a long coat was trying to move past him. "Oh. Sorry."

The blonde man looked at him warily, and almost guiltily, as he walked past him and towards the ward. "It's fine. You're obviously...very concerned about someone."

Louis nodded distractedly, sliding down onto the floor, his eyes fixed on Thomas who waited until the man had entered the ward before taking a step towards him.

"Lou. You need to calm down, _right now_. You aren't the only person that cares about Em, and you need to stop acting like it."

"I'm not – "

"Listen to me!" Louis stopped, and Thomas carried on. "You are _not_ the only one who's worried right now. I'm going out of my mind, but we need to carry on. Because guess who's going to be even more terrified than the both of us put together? Think about it Lou. This _actually happened to him_. He had to live through it, and he's going to have to live with the consequences."

Louis' eyes dropped to the floor guiltily, and Thomas' expression softened.

"Hey...hey!" Louis looked up at him. "I'm not mad at you Lou."

"I'm scared, Thomas." Louis voice broke in the middle of his sentence, and swamped in an oversized hoodie and slumped on the floor, he looked small and utterly miserable. Thomas sighed and slid onto the floor next to him, wrapping an arm around him and letting him curl into his side.

"I know. I know."

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Back in the ward, Detective Inspector Joseph Chandler watched Kent sleeping, and tried to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach as the nurse placed a pile of soiled bandages into an obnoxiously cheerful yellow waste disposal bag.

She paused, looking at the sombre man standing over her young charge. "You can't blame yourself for this you know." He glanced up, surprised to be addressed. "You couldn't have known it would happen. You weren't there."

"Yes, well. That's rather the problem, isn't it?"

"No, Mads is right." They both looked over to Doctor Lyons, standing at the end of the bed and holding a clipboard. He looked over to Mads. "Don't get used to it though."

She rolled her eyes, and carried on clearing up the detritus around Kent.

"Seriously though. Don't beat yourself up over it, yeah? There's no way you could have stopped it. You can't blame yourself for something you didn't have any power over."

"Other people can."

He didn't even have to ask who he was talking about. "Yeah, but they're just kids. Over emotional and desperate to place the blame on someone tangible."

Mads threw him a questioning look.

"Someone real. Not," he wiggled his fingers, "'phantom assassins'."

"Attackers."

"Huh?"

"Attackers. Not assassins. They didn't try to kill him." A pause. "Did they? Honestly, if you please."

"Nah. There's no way they meant to kill him. This was professional. Perfectly executed. If they wanted to kill him, he'd be dead."

"Lenny!" Mads hissed.

"Sorry." Lenny pulled an apologetic face, and then added quickly, "He's going to be fine though!"

Chandler visibly relaxed. "And you're sure about that?"

Lenny nodded. "Definitely. He'll be on crutches for a while, and there'll be some pretty heavy scarring, but nothing that should affect him in the long term. I started speaking to one of his flatmates about aftercare, but he ran after the other kid."

Chandler nodded vaguely in agreement. "Yes, I ran into them in the corridor."

Mads glanced over to the door with a sympathetic look in her eye, and then turned back to Lenny. "Shall I fetch them back in?"

"Yeah, that'd be great if you don't mind." They moved away from the bed together, and Chandler turned back to look at Kent. He tried to think of something to say, but found himself unable to come up with anything. He sighed, and started to move back towards the doors, meaning to make himself scarce before running into Kent's flatmates again.

He watched them walk in with the nurse, the smaller of the two twisting his fingers into the fabric of the other's sleeve and quite visibly terrified. But it was the look in the eyes of the taller boy that caught his attention. It was a look he knew all too well, one that showed a desperate attempt to be brave in the face of adversity. He wondered who the boy was being brave for. For Kent? For the boy at his side? Or for himself?

"Don't let them get to you." He turned to see the nurse at his side, her dark eyes watching the two boys speaking to the doctor. "They're young, and they're scared. They'll blame anyone they can. They're not prepared for something like this to happen."

That's precisely the problem, thought Chandler as he smiled at Nurse Durrani, and made his way out of the ward and back towards the station. Neither was I.

**end chapter two.**


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